The Weekly Meat

The Sandwich Hall of Fame

Sometimes a meal is far more than just a meal. Sometimes the food and the very act of eating it join to create a transcendent experience.

This is, after all, a blog, so no, I'm not talking about food as mere survival. I'm talking about gustatory excess. Because I have just eaten my favorite cheesesteak of all time.

I'm from Philly. I have eaten, literally, hundreds of cheesesteaks. This is a notable landmark.

The event in question took place at John's Roast Pork. The sandwich — a cheesesteak with mushroom and onions, sharp provolone, and ketchup — was tremendous. The meat, infused with the taste of its roll-mates. Heavenly.

The first sandwich I fell in love with was a simple one. In high school, a friend and I used to drive over to the local convenience store for lunch once or twice a week. I would get deli turkey on a kaiser roll, with lettuce, mayo, and American cheese. Boy, I dug that sandwich. But like many first loves, I have evolved, and it was inherently flawed to begin with we have grown apart.

Love, you ask? Oh, indeed. A sandwich is more than just a slab of meat (or veggies or legumes or whatever) between two slices of bread. It's convenience. It's simplicity. It's a lifestyle. Occasionally, it is even culinary perfection.

That said, I've put together a modest hall of fame, as follows. Now the great thing about the sandwich hall of fame (SHOF) is that it's an ever-expanding (perhaps to match the waistband) entity. There are certainly classic sandwiches (say, the muffaletta at Central Grocery in NOLA), which, sadly, I have yet to consume — as well as sandwiches that have yet to be created.

In any case, the honorees thus far:

Cheesesteak — John's Roast Pork, Philadelphia
Fresh, hot, not greasy, and the perfect meld of ingredients. Thank god I don't work around the corner from this joint (I'd pretty much have to be a stevedore to do so), as I'd be a little scared to find out what the repertory of a daily cheesesteak or roast pork would do to my vascular system.

Pork Báhn Mì — Báhn Mì Saigon Bakery, NYC
I stumbled (literally) onto this place only recently, on the walk to a friend's place after a successful Fung Wah experiment. The crusty, chewy baguette, the pork, the hot sauce, the sliced cucumber and carrots, the fresh sprigs of cilantro. So good that I went back 16 hours later for another to get me through the return bus trip.

Italian Roast Pork — Tony Luke's, Philadelphia
The other Philly sandwich. Succulent roast pork pulled from a bath of broth and juice, served on a hoagie roll with sharp provolone and garlicky broccoli rabe. Mercy, mercy.

Ferdi Special — Mother's Restaurant, New Orleans
When you order your po' boys at Mother's, they ask if you want it with debris. Your answer should always be "Yes." Debris is the juice, fat, and flavor-filled detritus that falls to the bottom of the pan when the meats are being roasted. It's spooned over the top of the sandwiches and soaks into the bread, making everything heavenly. Upon finishing his first debris-addled masterpiece, my good friend Spider decided that next time he might just ask for a debris sandwich.

Lobster Roll — Red's Eats, Wiscasset, ME
The lobster roll debate is a lively one, and I might cast my vote for a different place on a different day, but Red's Eats knows how to bring it, and they don't fuss with accoutrements. You're served a whole lobster's worth of meat on a toasted bun. No hacking up the meat, no obfuscation, just goodness.

Italian Hoagie — The White House, Atlantic City
Like the mighty lobster roll, the hoagie debate is strong. For my money though, good deli meat is good deli meat, and it's not tough to come by. I've had great hoagies (though they sometimes go by different names) all over the map, and passable hoagies nearly everywhere. So the deciding factors are sandwich construction and the roll. And absolutely nowhere serves better classic crusty/chewy hoagie rolls than The White House.

Turkey Reuben — The Original Turkey, Philadelphia
There is just so much to be said for a shmear of good Russian dressing and coleslaw topping a pile of fresh sliced, perfectly roasted turkey breast. I've had similar deli versions served cold — a favorite of which was a turkey/roast beef combo. But this particular goodness adds a couple slices of Swiss, puts it between good wheat bread and pops it on the sandwich press until its absolutely beautiful. This is a sandwich that simply melts in your mouth.

Cubano
I don't know that I have yet found the perfect cubano — a delicious pressed construction of roast pork, ham, cheese, spicy brown mustard, and chopped pickles — but that only serves to inspire me to continue the quest. I've certainly come close. Clearly, this may require fact-finding missions to Miami and Havana and all places Cuban. But in my own backyard, there are two places within a stone's throw of each other that do the cubano solid: Chez Henri and the Montrose Spa.

Chicken Torta — Tacos Lupita, Somerville, MA
Torta is a generic Spanish term, which, like the Vietnamese báhn mì, loosely translates to "that which makes the mouth water, the knees go weak, and the heart grow fond of foreign lands." My favorite torta starts with well-spiced grilled chicken, adds a spoon or two of beans, avocado, lettuce, tomato, a couple of jalapeño slices, and mayo. Nothing crazy, but the roll is nice and soft and the effect is outstanding.

Cheeseburger — Your Backyard, Your City
Don't let anyone make a better burger than you can serve your damn self. There is nothing more simple than grilling up your own burger, grilling it right, topping it with your favorite cheese, a perfect slice of tomato, etc.

Yes, I realize full well that the above list is guilty of a dearth of cold sandwiches. Rest assured that there are indeed plans for a future annex to the SHOF for our heat-challenged friends — once we are able to secure proper funding. Perhaps a reserved space for the buttered Parisian baguette with country ham, gruyere, hard-boiled egg, and lettuce. But for now, these are my darlings, and I'm gonna dance with them until a cardiologist looks into my heart and stomps on my soul by telling me to lay off.

The Five Best Things About Spring

I don't get quite as worked up about April as, say, T.S. Eliot. But here in the northeast, when the snow melts, the mud gurgles, and the college kids go home to wherever college kids live, I do start to feel rejuvenated, and with good reason. Here, specifically, are my top five reasons why.

Playoff Hockey

If ice hockey was a question in the bygone SAT analogies section, then the
playoffs : regular season :: Angelina Jolie : _______

A. Your mom
B. Your sister
C. Your cousin
D. Your Aunt Edna

Rivalries, overtime, guts, goals, grizzle and thread; the playoffs have it all, and every game matters. I don't even care who's playing — I can sit down on any given night, and watch whatever game is on, and be happier than a pig in shit.

Baseball on the Radio

I had the distinct pleasure twice this week of listening to the Red Sox game on the way to work in the morning. The occasion was an oddity — their season-opening series in Japan — but it reminded me that my baseball soul is putty in the hands of seasoned announcers like the Sox' Joe Castiglione or the Phillies' Harry Kalas. Hearing those guys on the radio is what the season is all about. There's something so simple, so analog and genteel about experiencing a ballgame that way. I hope it never goes away.

Green Becoming the New Brown

Spring is when you look out the window and the dominant color of vegetation switches from brown to green. You throw on some shorts, get out into the air again, dig around the thawing ground, and sow what you later want to reap.

I was never much of a flower guy until we bought our house. But now it's our yard I have to look at, day in and day out, and I get to jonesing for those early crocuses to start opening (we've got two out at the moment), the daffodils to shoot up, and the lilacs to bloom. It's nice to have all that color in our lives again. And hey — I can admit it — the lilacs smell good out the front door.

Beer in a Can

I like good beer. A fresh pint of Bellhaven, or Murphy's, or Old Speckled Hen at a place with clean tap-lines, or a nice bottle of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale with dinner is just transcendent.

But after a day of working outside in the yard, or on the house — when you're tired and sweaty and needing a shower, there are few sounds more satisfying than the expectant release of a carbonated pop-top. And if you've got a respectable old school brewery nearby, you can even do a far sight better than delving into Anheuser-Busch or kitschy PBR territory. During the warmer months, no matter what bottles I've got in the fridge, I tend to also keep cold some canned 'Gansett or Yuengling (America's oldest brewery).

Ah hell, in a pinch, even the High Life will do.

The First Saturday in May

The first Saturday in May puts us firmly in the wheelhouse of spring: it's officially time to plant the vegetables, to drink bourbon, and to turn on the TV for the most exciting two minutes in sports.

In horse racing — and in the Kentucky Derby especially, in a field so crowded that it's pretty much impossible to run away with the race before the final stretch — no matter whom I've bet on and where they're running, I get chills when those nags come around that clubhouse turn and the track announcer bellows, "And DOWN THE STRETCH THEY COME!"

Best. Concert. Ever.

The first concert I ever went to was to see The Kinks at the Philadelphia Spectrum, back in 1982. It was on their Give the People What They Want tour. Great show — but then again, I had little else to compare it to. It was undoubtedly an excellent show, but I've since seen others as good.

I think of myself as having very wide-ranging musical tastes, mostly rooted in alternative music (before "alternative" became mainstream fare), but with the exception of The Goats, this list of my top five shows seems incredibly mainstream. A longer list would require far too much rooting around my college-era memory cache — though offhand it would include folks like Superchunk, The Muffs, The Pogues, Billy Bragg, along with jazz cats Christian McBride and Brian Blade, Senegalese star Baaba Maal. I'd have to throw in a Dead Milkmen show. Maybe even Stevie Ray Vaughn a few weeks before he died. It'd start getting complicated.

That said, my top five, in sequential order only:

Bruce Springsteen — The Spectrum, Philadelphia, PA — September 1984
This was on the Born in the USA tour. Granted, a hair past late-'70s vintage, but the E Street Band was arguably at the height of its polish, and it's a tough show to beat. He came onstage right on time, no opening act, and played four hours straight, no breaks.

U2 — The Spectrum, Philadelphia, PA — April 1985
On the Unforgettable Fire tour. At some point, a fan tossed an Irish flag up on stage. Bono took it, he tore off the green section, ran to one side of the stage and threw it to the crowd. He then tore off the orange section, ran to the other side of the stage and threw it to the crowd. He was left with only the white section, which he held high and proclaimed to be the only flag that matters. Then, if memory serves, he blew his nose in it and sent that into the crowd as well. Bono had quite the mullet then, and his politics perhaps weren't quite as refined as they are now. In any case, excellent show. Again, I'd have loved to have seen them a few years before that, but I'm glad I got a chance to see them before their shows became bloated Rolling-Stones-like events.

Pearl Jam (w/Keith Richards) —  The Academy, NYC — December 31, 1992
This was a zeitgeist show. It was new year's eve, and my agent friend Ken scored us free tix. Pearl Jam opened this show for Keith Richards and the Inexpensive Winos, playing a tight hourlong set. Their first album was out, and the video for "Jeremy" had just blown up on MTV, so the audience was primed. We had actual seats upstairs, but as Pearl Jam came on, I handed my glasses, wallet, and flask (it was new year's, baby!) to my friends, and headed downstairs to the middle of the general admission mosh pit. It wasn't the Sex Pistols, or even Minor Threat, but I distinctly remember waking up the next morning and putting on my fairly new black Carolina steel toes. They were absolutely caked with the detritus of the pit: layers of sweat, beer, spit, snot, and blood.

The Goats — The Middle East, Cambridge, MA — September (?) 1993
One of the first shows I saw after I moved to Boston, and I went solo. Figures it would be a hometown Philly act. Another zeitgeist show. The Goats were an outstanding band that really captured the vibe of the early '90s. They were rappers with a punk rock aesthetic; a political conscience; incredibly dense, internally-rhymed lyrics; and great musical chops. The upstairs room at the Middle East is a weird space that was jammed with sweating fans. The energy was palpable and they did not disappoint. Years later, talking with Pierce and E.J. (guitar and bass, respectively), they told me they had always agreed that Middle East show was maybe The Goats' best ever.

Sonny Rollins — Berklee Performance Center, Boston, MA — September 15, 2001
Again, this one had a lot to do with timing. When I bought the tickets to this show for AKL's birthday, I could not have known its significance. I'd seen Sonny once before (also an excellent show), but this was to be a tonic for both audience and performers alike. It was just four days after the 9/11 attacks. Sonny had been at his apartment a few blocks from ground zero when the towers came down, and this was his first gig since. He spoke very little, but played for well over three hours, and blew the horn like a man half his age. It was at once a funeral, a therapy session, and a giant and heartfelt "fuck you" to the terrorists, and it felt great. P.S. An abridged (and in fact, bootlegged) recording of this show was later released (and won a Grammy).

Lemme know your top 5 in the comments. Have a think while you're listening:

Bruce Springsteen — "Candy's Room"
U2 — "Gloria"
Pearl Jam — "Corduroy"
The Goats — "¿Do the Digs Dug?"
Sonny Rollins — "Why Was I Born?"

The NHL All-Time All-Ugly Team

We have to respect ugly. Ugly is part of the game. It is smart and calculating. It does not rest on its past glory. It's out there scouring obscure corners of the globe, signing guys while they're still playing Midget, and — judging from Brad Park's draft photo — it has been for a long time. Ugly has its teeth in several young stars of the moment, and ugly will be around for a long time to come. We simply cannot beat ugly. We can, however, celebrate it.

If some of these guys look like they've been hit in the face with a bag of nickels, it's because they have. Yes, several have won Cups, and most (OK, all) could kick my short, skinny, rec league ass, but the roster must be made.

Note that none of these guys are the victims of a single especially bad picture, at an awkward time. And aside from Doug Favell, I took a pass on old-school goalies like Gump Worsley. They were easy targets, but as the Gumper himself liked to say, "My face is my mask" — and that's a tough nut you've gotta respect. Kasparaitis, on the other hand, well, he ain't got no alibi.

	Mike Ricci — Don't kid yourself it's all about the missing tooth or the long hair. Beauty might be only skin deep, but ugly cuts straight to the bone. (Warning: Click the thumbnails for a bigger pic only if you dare.)
	Darius Kasparaitis — The man whose name sounds like a disease as bad as his mug. Darius, I'll always remember you losing in the fifth overtime, baby, when Keith Primeau shook you out of your jock. Now that was some beautiful ugliness.
	Nick Fotiu — A tough fighter who was always a hometown fan favorite. Probably a great guy to go have a couple of pops with. But a puss that only Mrs. Fotiu could love.
	Rod Brind'Amour — Ah, Brindy. I love his game: he's all effort, all the time, and I'd be willing to look like him if it meant I could play like him. But he's first team All-Ugly in any league.
	Doug Favell — One of the first guys to really start painting his goalie mask creatively, but like an ugly girl wearing gaudy jewelry, there was clearly some misdirection behind that. He always looked much better behind the mask.
	Chris Chelios — Sorry, Chelly. Your longevity is admirable, as is this piece of acting brilliance alongside Samuel L. Jackson, but you're on the list and you know it.
	Eddie Johnstone — Even when I was a young kid, I remember thinking this guy kind of looked like a rat with a beak.
	Slava Fetisov — Ugly in Russian? "уродско." A mainstay on the Soviet Red Army team, Slava was one of the best D-men in the world for a good decade before coming to play in the NHL at age 31. Shown here on the Wings, he proves that you can leave your country, but you can't leave ugly.
	Tiger Williams — The NHL all-time career penalty minutes leader, and a stand-up ugly dude. I think of him in those old school, equally ugly Canucks "flying V" jerseys. Of special note, epicurean readers will be keenly interested to see that Tiger has not been idle in retirement. If you can find a copy, check out his cookbook: Done Like Dinner: Tiger in the Kitchen.
	Esa Tikkanen — "The Grate One" was maybe the most accomplished pest of all time. And let's face it, the worst kind of pest is an ugly pest.
	Gino Odjick — Lurch, why the long face? Tough as nails, it's still inconceivable to me that the "Algonquin Enforcer" was forced to retire early due to a concussion from taking a puck to the head. Gino looks like he makes pucks run away and wet themselves.
	Jeff Odgers — Square jaw, busted up nose, accentuated by the Breathe Right strip. Frickin' beauty. Gotta love Odgers.
	Mike Bossy — Bossy was ugly in that stylish Iggy Pop sort of way that undoubtedly got him lots of action back in the Studio 54 days, and he was hands-down the most talented guy in this bunch, but he's one ugly dude.
	Kjell Samuelsson — Ugly is sneaky. Kjell tried to outgrow it, but even at 6'6" ugly was able to catch up to his face.
	Marcel Dionne — The aptly nicknamed "Little Beaver" was another amazingly talented first team All-Ugly guy. And one with more staying power than Bossy. One of the few guys in the 700 goal club, 5th on the all-time points list, and center to the legendary "Triple Crown" line, with Charlie Simmer and Dave Taylor. Neither of those guys were real strong in the looks department either, but something tells me they managed to get laid a lot with Marcel around for comparison, eh?
	Bobby Holik — Holik's got that medical-experiment-gone-awry meets drill-sergeant thing going on. He just plain scares the crap out of me.
	Brian Bellows — A point-a-game guy for a long time, but he never really learned to backcheck. And, of course, there's this damning evidence, courtesy of Bryan Trottier and Kevin Stevens (who, you know, was always a great judge of character). OK, OK, Bellows isn't really all that ugly, but I can't resist that ridiculous Trottier/Stevens clip.
	Dennis Polonich — Ladies and gentlemen, we just might have a winner. By all accounts, Polonich was pretty much a grade-A asshat during his tenure in the NHL. Despite being roughly the size of the artist formerly known as Prince, he was a pest of the highest magnitude. I remember going to a Saturday matinée game in Philly and having the benches clear so the Flyers could get a piece of him. It was Donnybrook every time he came to town, and like any good fan, I hated his guts.

For Your Holiday Listening Pleasure

A holiday music sampler, in no particular order.

Father Christmas - The Kinks
Outside of the "Heat Miser" song, my first "favorite" Christmas song as a kid. "Father Christmas, give us some money — we got no time for your silly toys..." Still classic.

Backdoor Santa - Clarence Carter
"The call me backdoor Santa. I make my runs about the break of day. I make all the little girls happy, while the boys are out to play." Nuff said. His "ho ho ho" may make you blush. Additional reason to love it: Its horn line supplies the hook for Run DMC's inimitable "Christmas in Hollis."

Fairytale of New York - The Pogues
God love the Pogues. Shane McGowan and Kirsty MacColl go toe to toe in brilliant hungover reverie. "Happy Christmas, your arse, I pray God it's our last...."

Christmas Wrapping - The Waitresses
Memo to self: If you're gonna be a one-hit-wonder, try not to make it a holiday song. Classic '80s trash pop.

Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth - Bing Crosby & David Bowie
In his final TV special, Bing Crosby teamed up with the Thin White Duke for this unlikely duet. Until the advent of iTunes, this one could cause me to leave on VH1 on Christmas day in the hopes I'd catch the video.

Feliz Navidad - Jose Feliciano
Maybe the best of the bunch. Jose knows how to work it, taking things up a notch with the switch to English for the choruses.

Mamacita - Guster
A much newer Spanglish entry by local Boston boys. Very cool tune.

Santa Claus is Back in Town - Elvis
Great opening, great execution. No one could sing about nothing the way Elvis could.

Sleigh Ride - The Ronnettes
Solid production from the Wall of Sound man off the excellent A Christmas Gift for You... album. My second favorite Ronnie Spector tune, after her cover of Johnny Thunders' You Can't Throw Your Arms around a Memory.

Run Run Rudolph - Chuck Berry
Worst lyrics of the bunch ("Run Run Rudolph... Randolph's not too far behind"???), and Chuck Berry may have played it while sleeping. Still, it manages to rock.

Adeste Fidelis (Oh Come, All Ye Faithful) - Choir of King's College
Almost any choir worth their pillar of salt can sing this one and it'll sound good. I worked for a small publisher many moons ago, and one year we put together some locally-produced Christmas songs for a Rudolph book. The recording of this song kicked ass. And half our staff was Jewish, I might add.

Which leads me to...

The Chanukah Song - Adam Sandler
Despite the fact that my Jewish brethren have written many of the quintessential Christmas songs (White Christmas, Rudolph..., O Holy Night, etc.), as yet, we have been able to come up with only one commercial Chanukah song, thanks to Adam Sandler's simple brilliance. "You don't need Deck the Halls or Jingle Bell Rock, 'cause you can spin a dreidel with Captain Kirk and Mister Spock (both Jewish)."

Lagniappe: Get your baker's dozen bonus track straight from the source. The Gurgling Cod has magnanimously posted Shonen Knife's excellent Space Christmas for you fans of Osaka bubblegum pop.